The Fair Trade Raid
by Lisa-la
Summary: Once again, the Rats need a medic. Once again, their friend Spencer gets a trip into the desert. Previously published in Under The Sun 2 by Compass Rose Press, in 2002. Thanks to RK McBride for encouragement and excellent editing!
1. Chapter 1

The Fair Trade Raid

Jack Moffitt stood in the shadows at the edge of the German-held town and blew on his hands, trying to keep them warm. He was doing what he often did on a raid: masquerading as a German guard to cover their escape route, replacing the unfortunate private they had taken out when they arrived. All he had to do now was to wait for the others to catch up with him, and then get out of here. It was the middle of the night, and freezing, and he was ready for some hot tea and a warm blanket.

The rest of the Rat Patrol seemed to be running late, though, and that was starting to worry him. They were supposed to be setting timed charges around the tiny contingent of halftracks and tanks stationed here, but they should have caught up with him by now. He was trying to decide if he should go look for them, and risk them coming back and not finding him here, when he was startled by shouts and gunfire from the direction of the motor pool.

"Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he muttered, stepping out from his hiding place and preparing to cover the withdrawal to the jeeps. After a few moments, he spotted the other members of the patrol sprinting down the narrow street toward him, turning occasionally to exchange fire with a half dozen pursuing Germans. Moffitt's machine gun quickly chased the Germans under cover, and the three Americans scrambled past him toward the city gate – Tully first; then Troy, who stopped at Moffitt's side to look back for Hitch as the private came stumbling up from behind.

Troy caught Hitch's shoulder and dragged him around the corner of the building, and Moffitt followed.

"All right?" the American sergeant asked his charge. Hitch nodded mutely, holding his side and gasping for breath. "Good; let's go." He gave Hitch a little push to get him going, and they moved out.

They made it out of the city to the small stand of trees where they had left the jeeps, and were gratified to hear explosions behind them, as the charges they'd left in the motor pool finally went up. As that noise died out, however, they began to hear the sound of engines coming through the narrow streets – apparently, some of the German vehicles had started after them before the explosives detonated. As the patrol scrambled into their respective jeeps, Moffitt shot a look at Troy.

"What happened?"

"Sentry changed his patrol pattern for some reason, and caught Hitch in the act." Troy pulled the cover off his Browning and checked the ammunition supply. "He did a little hand-to-hand, and then we beat it."

As the engines started, Moffitt glanced at Hitch, and the private looked up at the same time. He was starting to catch his breath, but still leaned to the right a bit. "I'm okay, Sarge; just banged up a little. Let's take off."

Tully pulled out then, and Hitch followed, and a running battle ensued as three staff cars and a halftrack cleared the city gate and started after them. They managed to shake their pursuers before too long; the Germans apparently weren't inclined to chase an unknown enemy across a moonless desert. The patrol kept moving toward their own lines for a little more than an hour, until the sky began to lighten in the east, and then Troy directed them into a wadi to refuel and eat a quick breakfast.

As the jeeps rolled to a stop, Hitch leaned forward against the steering wheel with a sigh, and Troy laughed. "We've been in the clear for the last seventy-five miles, Hitch; you're just now relaxing?" Hitch didn't respond, and Troy jumped down from the back of the jeep, somewhat concerned, and went to the private's side. "You okay?"

The shift in his tone drew the attention of the other two Rats, and they looked up with interest. Hitch raised his head slightly to shake it carefully, and Troy was bewildered to find his driver pale and shaking, both arms wrapped around his midsection. He laid a hand on Hitch's near shoulder. "What happened?"

"I swallowed my gum," the private muttered.

As Troy helped him sit up, however, the answer was immediately apparent. Under the jacket that he had worn on the mission, the right side of Hitch's shirt and trousers were a bloody mess. Leaning closer, Troy pulled the jacket away to get a better look, and Moffitt and Tully came over at once.

"Hitch, you idiot," Tully said in surprise, "you didn't tell us the guy had a knife."

"It's not that bad," Hitch protested weakly, as Moffitt turned at once to locate the first aid kit.

"Can you stand?" Troy asked, setting a hand under the private's elbow. Hitch nodded resolutely as he carefully swung his feet out of the jeep, but his knees buckled before he even had his full weight on them, and Tully had to help Troy ease him to the ground.

"Okay, maybe not," Hitch amended, leaning back against the side of the jeep with his eyes closed against sudden dizziness. Troy stood to make room as Moffitt returned with their medical kit, and began looking around their current hiding place. They could stay here if they had to, but they were only a half day from their base—if Hitch could travel, they should get him back to a doctor ….

"Troy?" Moffitt motioned to get his attention, and Troy rejoined the group on the sand.

"It's not too deep, but it's messy." Moffitt said quietly, pointing out a four-inch gash in the private's right side, a few inches above his belt. "And it hasn't quite stopped bleeding yet. He's a little shocky, too. Best stay put for a bit, take a closer look at it before we move on."

"Hey, I'm still here," Hitch breathed in irritation, annoyed at being talked about as if he weren't present, but suddenly too tired to raise more of a protest; Tully swatted his shoulder lightly to silence him.

"And here's where you're going to stay, at least for a while," Troy replied, watching as Hitch leaned slowly toward Tully, sliding down the side of the jeep, apparently unable to stay upright any longer. "Let's make camp."

By the time they had prepared a bedroll, moved their patient onto it, and cleaned and bandaged his side, Hitch was barely conscious and his companions were growing more concerned by the minute.

"I can't imagine what he was thinking," Moffitt declared, as they considered what to do next. "We could have stopped and dressed that anytime after we lost Jerry, and he wouldn't have lost that much blood."

Tully came back from surveying the jeeps. "He's done this before, y'know," he observed. "Remember when we picked up that Brit Intelligence guy , and he dragged us all over trying to find that pipeline? Hitch kept his mouth shut 'til he fell right outta the jeep."

Troy shook his head in frustration. "We can't move him, can we?"

"I shouldn't think so. The bleeding's slowing now, but bouncing about in a jeep won't help him at all. I don't know that he won't need a transfusion."

Troy was silent for a few minutes, thinking through his options. "All right," he said finally, "Tully and I will make the run to base and bring back help. Should take us till mid-afternoon, round-trip."

"What kind of help?" Tully wanted to know.

"A doctor and some plasma would be my first choice."

"Do you think they'll let you have a doctor?" Moffitt sounded unconvinced.

"I'll kidnap one if I have to," Troy replied. "Come on, Tully; we'll leave most of the water and rations here, and re-supply in camp."

XXXX

There was a great deal of activity between the Rats' hiding place and the base camp, both in the air and on the desert. Troy and Tully could tell that something was apparently going on to the south of where they'd left Moffitt and Hitch, and their suspicions were confirmed when the camp came into sight, a little less than three hours after they left Moffitt and Hitch. Armored units were moving out on a regular basis, and ambulances were coming back in.

"Someone's getting hit somewhere," Troy observed as they pulled into the motor pool.

"Gonna be hard to get a doctor out of here," Tully put in, shutting off the engine and climbing out. "Even if we hid him in a crate or something."

Troy glared at him, annoyed, and turned to the corporal in charge of the motor pool. "Fill the tank and get us some more water – and lots of it; we're going back out in an hour."

Tully frowned, unhappy about leaving their jeep in the hands of a stranger, but kept his silence until the corporal had left. "We headin' for HQ?" he asked quietly.

"If we show our faces at HQ, they'll send us out to wherever the fight is, and who knows when somebody will get back to Hitch and Moffitt. Let's head for the hospital and see what we can come up with."

The hospital was every bit as busy as they expected, under the circumstances; it took almost fifteen minutes to even get someone's attention. The nurse who finally took pity on them quickly tracked down a doctor, who met them at the entrance of the hospital tent in blood-covered surgical scrubs and a very bad mood. He laughed when they told him what they needed, which put Troy in an equally unfriendly state.

"Oh, I've plenty of plasma here," the surgeon told them. "We just received a huge shipment yesterday. But not one doctor is leaving here until this push is over."

"Who's pushing?" Tully asked.

"You've been in the field a while, haven't you? Jerry tried to punch through early yesterday – there may even be a few units between here and our lines. They're certainly wreaking havoc all over. We've been working here since yesterday afternoon, and no end in sight. We may have to pull this base back to a safer area."

The two Americans exchanged a look; this was going to be even harder than they thought, and Troy could tell by Tully's expression that the private was trying to decide if they could get the man in front of them out of camp quietly. Grabbing a doctor from a secluded area was one thing—and Troy was rapidly reaching that point—but dragging him out of the hospital in front of everyone would only get them arrested. Troy decided to try another approach.

"What about a medic?"

The doctor looked a bit taken aback at that suggestion. "Everyone who's still in camp has been working all night. If you can find a medic who can stay awake long enough to do you any good, he's yours."

Troy started looking around for a likely soul to con into joining them, but Tully surprised him. "Where's Private Spencer? Is he still here?"

_Of course!_ If they had to kidnap a medic, it might as well be one they knew—he might be less likely to file charg es, if nothing else. Drew Spencer had accompanied the Patrol to deliver medical supplies to a native village some weeks earlier, and had got along well with all of them, particularly the two younger Rats. He had lately been trying to teach Hitch and Tully to play soccer, with limited success and much to Moffitt's amusement. Of course, how he would react to being dragged out into the field in the middle of what appeared to be a major offensive remained to be seen.

"Spencer? I think he's here – just came in a bit ago. Try post-op: third tent down, on the way to the enlisted mess. I believe he's helping out there."

Thanking the doctor, the two Rats ducked back out into the sun, and Troy checked his watch. Already eleven-thirty, and they were still in camp! Moffitt and Hitch were sitting out in the desert roasting, German patrols were apparently everywhere, and here they were getting nowhere in a hurry . Tully was watching him expectantly, so he turned toward the post-op tent and started walking.

Post-op was a familiar place to the members of the Rat Patrol; the nature of their work required alarmingly frequent visits to the medical facilities of whatever base they were using, both as patients and visitors. Troy and Tully paused in the entryway to let their eyes adjust to the dim light, and began looking for the familiar face of Drew Spencer. They didn't see him at first, but then Tully recognized his dark head at the back of the tent, where he was changing a bandage on the arm of a half-conscious soldier. Troy led the way down the wide aisle, dodging orderlies and nurses as he went, and they waited for Spencer to finish with his patient.

"There you go, lad; all done," they heard him murmur, although the soldier on the cot didn't seem to notice as he carefully replaced the injured arm at the man's side. Spencer stood and turned, stopping in surprise when he saw who was waiting for him. Troy suddenly realized how hard the medical teams had been working through the night, seeing the evidence in someone he knew; Spencer's green eyes were dull with lack of sleep, his shoulders slumped, and his uniform, while reasonably clean, was decidedly rumpled.

"Hello there," he said softly, stepping into the aisle and away from the sleeping men behind him. Taking in their urgent expressions, he glanced quickly around the room before asking anxiously, "Where are the others?" Surely the reason only two Rats were standing before him in a medical tent would be that one of the other Rats was injured.

"In the field," Troy replied, taking the younger man's elbow and drawing him toward the exit. "We need your help." He outlined the situation as quickly as he could, all the while wondering if this could possibly work out the way he needed it to. "The surgeon in charge cleared you to go with us; are you up to it?"

Spencer thought for a moment, then looked up uncertainly at the others. "You know I can't throw sutures, right? All I can do is wrap him up, pump some plasma into him and try to get him back here in one piece. And I doubt we can get an ambulance in all this; it would just be me and my kit."

"That's all I'm asking for."

Another brief pause, then he drew a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, nodding at Troy. "I just need to resupply; when will you be leaving?"

"As soon as you're ready. You're sure?" Troy asked—he was thrilled to have gotten the help they came for, but a little surprised that he'd gotten it this easily.

"Yes," Spencer said with a small smile. "I've been in camp for two whole hours; got a shower, a clean shirt, and half a hot meal, and seen to the men I brought in. Time to head to the front line again."

Troy decided not to tell him yet that Moffitt and Hitch weren't exactly at the front line – at least, he hoped that was still the case.

"Look at it this way, Spence," Tully offered as they stepped out into the sun again, "At least you can catch a few winks in the jeep."

That got a full-scale grin from the medic. "Not likely," he retorted. "I've ridden with you lot before, you know. Meet you in the motor pool?" At Troy's confirming nod, he added, "I'll be there in ten minutes."


	2. Chapter 2

Moffitt took another survey of his surroundings, turning a slow circle as he peered through his binoculars from his perch on a dune above their little camp, then checked his watch. Nothing had moved on the desert since Troy and Tully had left, although he could clearly hear activity in the distance, and it was past time to see how Hitch was doing. Scooping up his rifle and sliding down the dune, he landed next to the jeep and ducked into the small cave-like space he and Tully had created by draping a camouflage net from the side of the wadi over the jeep.

Hitch was on a bedroll in the shaded area, apparently asleep, and didn't wake at Moffitt's approach. The sergeant watched the younger man for a moment as he scrounged a canteen out of the back of the jeep. They'd given him some morphine before the others had set out for help, but it seemed to be wearing off; Hitch was starting to stir, his face drawn with discomfort. Finally locating the canteen, Moffitt crossed to the bedroll and gently shook the private awake.

"Ready for a drink?" he asked when Hitch blinked up at him.

"Sure." Hitch put a hand by Moffitt's on the canteen to help steady it, but when he tried to lift his head to meet it, the gash in his side announced its presence quite clearly. He dropped his head back to the bedroll as his breath hissed in between clenched teeth.

"Let me help," Moffitt offered, sliding a hand under Hitch's head and lifting for him. "Don't try to sit up yourself."

Hitch nodded as he drank, pausing to accept the sulfa pill when the sergeant offered it, and sank back with a sigh when he had finished. "Thanks. No sign yet?"

"It's too soon. They'll be along in a bit, with a protesting doctor in tow, no doubt."

Hitch looked dubious. "You know, I think I'd prefer a doctor in a _good_ mood, if I had a ch oice."

"Of course, you don't, in this case, so it hardly matters," Moffitt replied with a chuckle. "Do you think you could eat?"

Hitch shook his head, making a face. "Not right now. I'd like to sit up some, though."

Moffitt scooted over to the jeep, dug the rations out, and snagged the extra bedrolls, returning to find Hitch listening thoughtfully to the distant booming sounds that had held Moffitt's attention for the last hour.

"Is that mortar fire?" the private asked as Moffitt stuffed the rolled up blankets under his shoulders to raise his head a bit more.

"It certainly sounds like it," Moffitt observed, breaking open the rations pack and handing the canteen to Hitch. "I can't see anything moving out there, but there's been smoke to the south for about an hour."

Hitch carefully took a small swallow; sitting up had been no fun at all, and now he was a little queasy. "I wonder what's going on out there."

"As long as it keeps going on out there and doesn't come over here, I don't much care," Moffitt replied frankly. They were in no position to move quickly, if Jerry headed their way, and Troy and Tully wouldn't know where to look for them.

They sat in silence for several minutes, passing the canteen between them and listening to the explosions in the distance. When he'd finished off the pack of rations, Moffitt shifted closer and checked the younger man's bandage.

"Well, that opened it back up, but not badly," he muttered, readjusting the gauze wrapping and sitting back. "How does it feel?"

"Hurts, but I can manage."

"All right." Moffitt checked his watch again. "I'd rather not give you more morphine right now; they'll be along before too much longer, and it wouldn't do if you couldn't stay awake when the doctor got here. But if you'd rather –"

"I'm okay. I'll let you know if it gets worse."

"All right, then. You stay put; I'm going up top to have another look."

XXXX

Spencer was as good as his word, and the little jeep made its way out of the camp only fifteen minutes after the three men had parted company in front of the post-op tent. He had also, Troy quickly learned, picked up a little more knowledge about the desert since he'd traveled with them last.

"They're not at the front line, are they?" the English medic said to no one in particular, not twenty minutes after they had set out. Seeing the surprised looks on his escorts' faces, he explained with a shrug, "I _have_ spent a good bit of time up there recently; I know what direction it's in."

Troy was riding in the back, balanced on the radio and holding on to the gun mount, so that Spencer, having less experience with fast-moving desert jeeps, could have the passenger's seat. Leaning closer, he called over the noise of the engine, "No; we were on our way in from a mission – had no idea there was a battle on 'til we got close to camp. Sorry about that."

"Oh, it's not a problem, sergeant. If I don't go where the wounded are, I might as well go home."

Tully abruptly slowed, but didn't stop completely, and pointed to a dust cloud ahead of them and to the south. "Sarge, that look like trouble to you?"

"Yeah," Troy nodded, though neither of the others noticed. "Keep moving."

"Well, they're close to the front, anyway," Spencer observed with some trepidation.

"They weren't when we left," Tully replied.

"Keep an eye out, fellas," Troy ordered. "That action moves much further to the north, and we'll have to go around."

Almost two hours later, it was painfully clear that they would have to do just that: circle north of the on-going tank battle to try to flank it and get to the wadi where Moffitt and Hitch were hiding. As they set out at top speed and kept an eye on the distant dust cloud, Troy began mentally working on plans to get them out, if this area turned out to be German-held in a couple of hours.

XXXX

Moffitt was now lying on his stomach on the top of the dune, and he finally had something to point hi s binoculars at: there was a tank battle going on a few miles off, and he had a front row seat. Of course, he was anxious for the curtain to come down on this particular show—or for a familiar little jeep to come shooting over the next dune, preferably unnoticed by the tank commanders across the way. It was almost teatime; Troy and Tully were well past due.

He had checked on Hitch earlier, and the younger man was uncomfortable and growing feverish, but holding up. All but the smallest movements reopened his wound, and Moffitt had given him some more sulfa and replaced the dressing the last time he'd been down. He had also broken down and given the private a bit more morphine; Hitch would never have asked for it, but the wait was becoming much longer than Moffitt had expected. He was afraid to go down now; if the battle turned this way, he'd be hard pressed to get Hitch into the jeep and get them away – he wanted as much warning as possible.

Finally, he saw what he had been looking for. North of the tanks, a familiar shape crested a dune and disappeared back into the maze of valleys that made up this section of desert, apparently undetected by anyone who wasn't actively looking for it. At last! They were only a few minutes away, if Tully navigated the wadis correctly. Moffitt rolled over, snagged his rifle, and scooted back down to Hitch and the jeep. Ducking into their shelter, he went immediately to wake the private.

"What?" Hitch asked with some irritation; he was drowsy from the morphine, and it seemed to him that he had only just gotten to sleep.

"Listen," Moffitt commanded, and Hitch struggled to some semblance of full consciousness, listening for trouble.

"Tanks?!"

"Besides that."

After a moment, the private heard the familiar higher-pitched sound of a jeep engine approaching, and relaxed in relief. "It's about time," he groused sleepily.

Moffitt laughed lightly, patting the younger man's shoulder. "I'll go out and show them in." He retrieved his rifle, just in case, and stepped out into the late afternoon sun as the prodigal jeep finally slipped into their hiding place.

"Where have you been?" he greeted as he approached the vehicle. "Decide to take a holiday without us?" Then he looked more closely at the extra man, and grinned in recognition. "Spencer!"

"Hello, Sergeant," the medic replied, gathering his kit from behind the seat as he climbed out. "Where's our patient?"

"Over there," Moffitt explained with a gesture in the direction of the shelter. "He was afraid these two would nab an unwilling doctor, and then he'd suffer from the fellow's ill will."

Spencer chuckled distractedly as he headed for the makeshift tent. "Oh, I came willingly enough, though I could have done without the mad-dash-around-unfriendly-tanks part." Ducking his head, he stepped into the shadows between the parked jeep and the wadi wall.

The three Rats hung back for a moment. "How's he doing?" Troy asked quietly.

"Well enough; as long as he's still, the bleeding stops and the wound begins to clot. You know Hitch, though: 'still' is not his forte. And he tried once to roll over in his sleep, which was not pleasant for either of us. There's no way we could have moved him."

"Well, I've got a feeling we may all need to be moving soon," Troy observed, glancing in the direction of the not-so-distant battle.

**XXXX**

Mark Hitchcock had drifted to sleep again, but woke slowly to a hand on his forehead and one on his wrist. Blinking himself awake, he frowned in confusion when he finally recognized the man beside him.

"Drew? Great, now I'm delirious," he murmured thickly.

"Hardly," came the amused reply, as the medic removed his hand from his patient's forehead, though he continued to monitor the pulse. "You're not nearly feverish enough for that. How are you feeling?"

"Um, 'perforated' sounds good."

"Hmm. Sounds as though Sergeant Moffitt has made use of the morphine." Leaning back a bit, Spencer looked toward the opening of their shelter. "Sergeant Moffitt? Could you join us, please?"

In a moment, Moffitt was kneeling opposite Spencer, and Hitch could see Tully and Troy crouched at the edge of the shadows.

"How much morphine has he had, and how long ago?" Spencer asked.

"Hi, Tully," Hitch called, oblivious to the conversation above him.

"Hi, yourself. Now, hush," the Kentuckian replied, amused despite the situation.

"Only about a quarter dose, about an hour ago. I expected he'd need to be awake when you got here, but it was taking quite a while …"

Hitch was watching Spencer nod in response, and didn't realize what the medic's hands were doing until they tried to peel back the dressing on his side. The private yelped and pulled away, shooting a confused look at Moffitt when the sergeant planted a hand on his shoulder to hold him still.

"Sorry about that," Spencer said, quickly moving his hands away from the bandage. "Won't do it again for a bit. Here's what I propose: we'll give you a bit more morphine, and then we'll have a look under that dressing and change it for a fresh one. After that, I've brought you two lovely bottles of plasma. We should have you feeling ready to travel before you know it. How does that sound?"

Having gotten thoroughly lost in even that brief explanation, Hitch glanced uncertainly at the others for confirmation. They all seemed to think that Spencer had outlined a reasonable course of action, so Hitch nodded slowly, still not sure what he was a greeing to.

"All right, then; just a moment, and we'll be ready to start," Spencer went on soothingly, as he began preparing the injection. Glancing across Hitch to the others again, he explained, "I'm just going to give him the other three-quarters of a dose; we'll have to get that dressing off, and I think we'll need to sit him up to get a really good dressing back on him. Here we go with the morphine, Mark," he warned.

"'Kay," Hitch replied. He felt the sting of the needle in his arm, and then drifted off to sleep before he realized that they still intended to remove the bandage.

Spencer and the other Rats watched as their patient's eyes slid shut. Then Spencer nodded at his audience, smiling as reassuringly as he could. "This really wouldn't be pleasant for him, awake."

"Trust us, we know," Troy replied from the entrance.

"We've all been there," Tully added.

"Yes, I dare say you have. All right, let's have a look under here, then."

Removing the bandage was fairly simple, once the patient's squirming had been eliminated from the process, and they soon revealed a mostly clotted wound along Hitch's side.

Well, it looks better than it did," Troy observed, then glanced up at a particularly fierce-sounding barrage from the nearby, nearly-forgotten battle. "Uh, Tully …"

"Yeah, Sarge," Tully sighed reluctantly, picking up the rifle Moffitt had set down when he came in, "I'll go take watch."

Troy slapped the private's shoulder lightly in gratitude as he left, and slipped further into the shelter. He was content to let Moffitt be the assistant on this one, but he wanted to be close enough to help, if needed.

"It's fairly clean," Spencer muttered, almost to himself, "and it looks like the ribs stopped it going too deep. You've had sulfa on it?"

"Yes—when we first dressed it, and then when I changed the bandage a few hours ago. He's had the tablets regularly, as well."

"That's good. I'm not a doctor, of course, but my guess is that the fever's just a reaction to the wound, and not due to infection. He's lost a great deal of blood, but it's hardly bleeding at all now, and only because he startled so when I tried to look at it before. Well, sulfa once more for good measure; then we'll sit him up and wrap him all the way round the middle. It'll hold the dressing more firmly."

This turned out to be more difficult than it sounded, taking both Troy and Moffitt to hold Hitch up while Spencer wrapped, as the private was practically dead weight between them. The result was a much more professional-looking job than they'd been able to accomplish before, and looked as though it would stay put until purposely removed. When they laid him back on the blankets, Hitch stirred briefly, then settled and began snoring softly, and both sergeants chuckled.

"Sounds like a good idea," Troy grinned; the patrol had been awake for over twenty-four hours, he realized—and so had their medic.

As if in response, Spencer yawned hugely, then began digging in his pack for a bottle of plasma. "Understand, I'm in no hurry at all, Sergeant, but when were you planning to leave?"

Troy glanced at his watch, aware once again of the battle going on a few dunes away, between them and safety. "We aren't going to be able to move quickly, are we?"

"Afraid not. He still needs to get to a proper doctor, of course; but bounce him over a dune of two, and we'll only have to stop again."

"And it wouldn't due to bungle our way into the middle of a panzer unit, traveling at night," Moffitt put in.

Troy thought a moment more, then nodded, reluctant but resigned. "If that battle doesn't head this way, we can stay put 'til first light. But we need to be ready to move out ASAP, if things change."

Spencer nodded distractedly, setting up the plasma IV, and Moffitt murmured in amusement, "Aren't we always?"

"Right," Troy chuckled in response. "I'm gonna go send Tully down for some shuteye, before he falls asleep up there; I'll wake you in a couple hours."


	3. Chapter 3

As the first hint of dawn began to lighten the desert sky, Troy finished his second turn at watch and slid back down the dune into their little camp. Some time after sunset, the tank battle out on the plain had faded into silence, but the patrol hadn't been able to determine if it had moved elsewhere, or if the commanders had simply settled in for the night. They weren't even sure if they were in Allied territory, or behind enemy lines. Either way, Troy wanted to get moving before they got cornered again.

Tully was already up, listening to the radio with the headset, trying to tell from random radio broadcasts who currently was in control of the immediate area. He had the coffee on, Troy noticed, and the sergeant poured himself a cup before going to wake the others.

The three able-bodied Rats had slept outside the shelter, and left the limited space inside to Hitch and Spencer; the medic had been left out of sentry rotation so that he could look after his patient. As Troy crouched beside Moffitt to wake him, he peered briefly into the tent and found the two young men asleep as well, Spencer sitting up against the wall of the wadi, with a hand on Hitch's shoulder in case his patient woke.

Troy shook the English sergeant's shoulder, and said softly when Moffitt rolled over to look up at him, "Ready for some coffee?"

"There's water on for tea, too," Tully offered from his place by the other jeep.

"Ah, Tully," Moffitt sighed, sitting up, "Always thinking ahead."

"We aim to please," the private grinned.

"I'll wake Spencer; he'll want some, too." Moffitt started to crawl under the netting, but Troy stopped him.

"I'll get him; you start the tea."

Ducking into the shelter, Troy stepped carefully over Hitch's feet and knelt by Spencer. It was still quite dark under the netting, but it seemed to Troy that Hitch's color was better. He knew the morphine had worn off in the night—they had all heard Mark sleepily singing something at about 0230, as he was coming around. They couldn't distinguish the words, but the melody was truly awful . Tully was going to get plenty of mileage from stories of Hitch on morphine, Troy thought with a grin.

Before Troy could reach to rouse Spencer, however, the medic woke on his own, starting in surprise to find someone kneeling over him. He pulled himself upright quickly, glancing at Hitch to confirm that all was well on that front, then turned back to Troy.

"Do we need to leave?"

Troy shook his head. "Not yet. Moffitt's making tea; we thought you might like some."

"Absolutely! Give me a moment to check on Hitch, then I'll be right there."

Troy joined Moffitt and Tully at the radio, where Moffitt was now listening to the headset while stirring two tin cups of tea that sat on top of the radio set. Tully had scrounged out their rations and was trying to come up with something edible for breakfast. Finding himself at loose ends for the moment, Troy climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep and put his feet up on the dash, taking a precious few minutes to enjoy his coffee. After a moment, Spencer stepped out into the light as well, stretching before crossing to the second jeep.

"Morning, Spencer," Moffitt greeted, as Tully nodded and waved from where he was sorting through rations packs on the hood of the jeep. "How's our patient?"

"Morning, all. Better—he's awake, and somewhat hungry. I don't suppose he's eaten since … well, whenever you last ate before he was wounded. I doubt he'll feel like eating much, though. Tully, are there any crackers in any of those?"

"Should be." Tully began digging through the packs before him, and Spencer, snagging one of the cups of tea with a grin of thanks in Moffitt's direction, joined him.

"Spencer, you think he'll be able to travel this morning?" Troy asked from his seat in the jeep.

"Yes, if we go slowly. I've no idea how we'll keep him in the jeep, though. The last patient I moved without a stretcher or an ambulance was you, I think, Sergeant. And you were quite able to sit up on your own, as I recall. I suppose we can give him enough morphine to take the edge off, and hope he can stay put by himself."

"You can sit behind him on the jerry cans and help hold him up," Troy offered. "We've done it before, but it only works if we're moving slowly."

Seeing where Troy was headed, Tully observed, "We'll only have one gun that way, Sarge; you'll have to drive."

"Well, hit-and-run tactics only work if we can run after we hit. We'll just keep a low profile and stay out of trouble." Tully's disdainful snort made it abundantly clear how unlikely he found _that_ scenario, but Troy ignored him. "Moffitt, any idea whose backyard we're in?"

Moffitt took off the headset and picked up his tea. "No one's. Or everyone's. Rather depends on your point of view."

Sitting up and dropping his feet into the jeep, Troy turned in the seat to stare at the Englishman by the radio set. "What does that mean?"

"Well, it sounds like Jerry has moved right past us during the night, putting us behind their lines."

"Wonderful," Tully muttered.

"However," Moffitt went on, coming to lean against the side of the jeep beside Troy, "it also sounds like they've been well and truly routed, and are headed back to their original positions with all possible haste – and with our lads in pursuit."

"So we're headed into some very unhappy krauts," Troy sighed. "Great."

"Well," Spencer said after a long moment, "I'll take Mark his breakfast and keep him company for a while."

As the medic gathered up his tea, the package of crackers, and a rations pack for himself, Tully snagged his coffee and a second rations pack. "Think I'll join ya."

After the younger men had left, Moffitt ventured, "Really, it's hard to tell from eavesdropping on radio broadcasts, but it sounds like a rather disorganized retreat. There's a good bit of calling back and forth, trying to establish positions, regain order, and so forth. We might be able to get through to base without being noticed."

"If base is still where we left it," Troy warned. "There was talk of pulling back when we were there yesterday." He paused, looking up at the rocky walls around them. "But if we stay put, they're liable to just run right into us." The wadi was a great hiding place, but would be almost impossible to defend with just three guns. Sighing in resignation, he leaned over the dash and captured two rations packs, tossing one to Moffitt. "We'll break camp after we eat, and head out. Maybe if we're moving, and they're moving, we'll all miss each other."

**XXXX**

An hour later, the two jeeps had been packed, refueled, and were ready to go. Hitch had insisted on walking out to the jeep himself, even though Tully and Spencer supported him most of the way. Although much better for the rest and the plasma, he was still shaky and drenched in perspiration by the time they settled him into his seat. He watched while the others made last minute preparations around him, turning carefully to look up as Spencer climbed in behind him, and the medic gave him a smile.

"Well, this will be a new perspective for me, riding back here," Spencer told him. "I don't know which is more likely, you falling out of the jeep, or me doing the same while trying to help you."

"I can stay in by myself," Hitch groused around a yawn. All this fussing over him was starting to get on his nerves, though he knew the others meant well.

"Until you fall asleep," Spencer returned, "Although it sounds as though we won't be up to your usual insane speeds this trip." When Hitch shot him a half-hearted glare, Spencer smiled again and clapped him carefully on the shoulder. "Seriously, though, I only gave you a tiny bit of morphine; if it gets too bad, say the word."

Hitch nodded, and the jeep shifted slightly under them as Troy took his place in the driver's seat. The wounded private managed an impudent grin for his sergeant. "I don't know. You driving, me riding – I could get used to this."

"Well, don't," Troy growled with a grin of his own.

"Just watch out for the bumps, Sarge."

"Watch out yourself, or you'll be walking home." Troy gave Tully a wave in the other jeep, and they left the safety of the wadi for the trek back to their lines.

XXXX

They made a half-day's journey without incident, swinging to the north on the path Troy, Tully and Spencer had used the day before, stopping frequently to scan the horizon with the binoculars, and staying in the wadis as much as was possible. Twice they had close calls with retreating German units, but managed to get under cover in time; and only once did Spencer have to grab Hitch's shoulder as the dozing American began to list to starboard. By noon, Troy was beginning to think they could make it back to base without problems. Later, though, he realized that he should have expected the halftrack they blundered into as they rounded a blind turn at the end of a wadi—things had been going too well.

Troy swung his jeep around to present the driver's side to the enemy, putting himself between them and Hitch and Spencer. Tully followed suit behind him, and Moffitt, who had been riding in the back of his jeep, just in case, scrambled to bring his gun around, although he was immediately covered by the equally powerful gun on the halftrack. Spencer grabbed the startled Hitch by both shoulders and dragged him down into the space between the two jeeps as Troy and Tully both reached for rifles.

"Not so fast, Sergeant," called a voice far too familiar to the Rats.

Tully swore softly, frozen in the act of reaching for his weapon; and Hitch, holding his side and trying to catch his breath, groaned and looked up at him. "Tell me that's not Dietrich," he whispered.

"Better go back to sleep, buddy," Tully replied quietly, his eyes on the Germans. "With any kind of luck, you're dreaming this."

Troy, however, being closer than the others, had noticed something they hadn't. "Looks like just you and your driver, Captain. I think you're outnumbered."

"And you are outgunned," the German replied coolly, "and we appear to be blocking your exit from this wadi, as well. I suggest you stand down, Sergeant Moffitt."

"I will if you will," Moffitt returned, holding his ground behind the fifty. Spencer, caught between the two guns, rose up a bit to peer over the passenger seat at the Germans, a dozen yards away. Dietrich was manning the halftrack's weapon himself, and wore a bloody bandage on his left arm. His dri ver , wearing an equally bloodstained uniform but apparently unhurt, was standing in the cab of the vehicle with a rifle directed at Troy. The American sergeant had managed to scramble out of the jeep and snatch his own rifle before Dietrich stopped them, but had not been able to find cover or bring his weapon to bear.

"We appear to have a stand-off," Troy observed. "Don't suppose you'd care to surrender?"

Dietrich raised an eyebrow at that, but was silent a moment, examining the Allied contingent carefully. Finally, he raised his voice to reply. "Actually, no, Sergeant; surrender doesn't interest me at this time. However, since we do seem to have reached an impasse, there is a proposition I'd like you to consider."

Troy shifted warily. "I'm listening."

"Do I see that you have a British medic with you?"

Hitch and Tully both looked at Spencer in surprise, and Spencer ducked back behind the jeep, seriously considering tunneling under the sand; but Troy didn't flinch. "If I do?"

Dietrich glanced down into the back of the halftrack, and then looked up again with the air of a man decided on his course of action. "Sergeant, I have two wounded men here, and our medical kit was one of the earliest casualties. Allow us to make use of your medic's services, and I will … arrange to get out of your way."

Troy half-turned toward the men behind him, knowing that Moffitt had the Germans covered, and looked at Spencer. "Private? Up to you."

Swallowing hard, Spencer shot a glance at his current patient, and then stood hesitantly. "Sergeant, I—wouldn't this be considered aiding the enemy?" he stammered in a whisper.

"Unless it was considered honoring a truce," Moffitt suggested softly from behind him.

Spencer looked up at the other Englishman, comprehension slowly dawning in his green eyes. He hadn't really realized that what had just happened was an offer of truce; he'd never seen that happen in the field before. It was true what they said around camp, he supposed—_no one operates quite like the Rat Patrol._ And besides, he had treated wounded Germans before, just not when their commander requested his assistance at gunpoint. Nodding his compliance, he turned back to Troy. "Very well. I'll do what I can."

"You've got a deal," Troy called back to Dietrich. "Can we put away the firepower for the duration?"

With a glance at his bewildered driver, Dietrich took a single slow step away from his gun. "I will if you will, Sergeant," he replied pointedly.

Moffitt grinned at having his own words turned back on him, and hopped off the back of the jeep to land next to Spencer. "Done."

At that, Dietrich took the few steps to the cab of the halftrack, and spoke to his driver, who reluctantly lowered his rifle to the floor; Troy simultaneously returned his to its place alongside the front fender of his jeep. Tully let out a guarded sigh of relief, and Spencer, glancing down, was surprised to see Hitch slip a small knife back into his boot before looking back up at him.

"It's okay," Hitch said softly. "He's a Kraut, but if he says 'truce,' he means it."

"Well, you certainly know him better than I do," the medic retorted nervously, before turning to Troy. "Now, Sergeant?"

"Is this going to be a problem for you?" Troy countered, coming around the front of the jeep.

Spencer shook his head resolutely, slightly embarrassed. "I understand the situation now. Sorry about questioning you."

"It was the right kind of situation to question," Troy replied. "You need any help?"

Glancing over his shoulder at Moffitt as he pulled his kit out of the jeep, the medic said, "I could certainly use a translator; I assume not all of his troops speak English as well as the captain there?"

"Safe assumption. Let's go, then," Moffitt replied, and they started for the halftrack as Tully helped Hitch settle in the meager shade beside the jeep.

Dietrich straightened abruptly when he saw the two Englishmen headed toward him. "Just one of you, Sergeant," he warned.

"I'm just the interpreter, Captain," Moffitt explained, his hands held reassuringly out to the sides.

"I can do that; you can return to the others."

"I beg your pardon, sir," Spencer interjected hesitantly, "but you really need to sit down. I'll see to your arm when I've finished with the others, if you like." He wanted Moffitt with him for more than one reason; he desperately didn't want to climb into the back of an enemy halftrack all alone.

Dietrich wavered, considering, then nodded his agreement and leaned wearily against the cab. Not wanting to give the German time to change his mind, Moffitt ushered Spencer to the rear of the khaki-colored vehicle and up into the back.

There were indeed two injured men inside, lying along each side with the gun mount between them – Dietrich would have had trouble pivoting the weapon without tripping over one of them. Kneeling next to one of them, Spencer pulled away the blanket that covered the man, revealing a nasty abdominal wound that had bled heavily into a bandage apparently made from a Wehrmacht uniform shirt. Frowning, the medic quickly shifted to check for a pulse in the German's neck. After a long moment, he withdrew his hand, glancing apprehensively at Moffitt beside him before looking up at Dietrich.

"I'm sorry, sir," the medic said gravely. "He's … already gone."

The German officer closed his eyes against the news, but nodded slowly. "I was afraid that would happen," he admitted softly, looking up at them again. The driver shifted nervously beside him, and Dietrich turned to explain the situation to him.

Moffitt pulled the blanket back up to cover the dead soldier's face, and put a hand on Spencer's shoulder to prod him on to his next patient. Nodding, the medic turned one-hundred-eighty degrees to the second wounded man, who was sporting a bandage-made-from-a-shirt on his left shoulder and murmuring somewhat deliriously. He jerked away when Spencer began gently removing the bandage, and tried to rise when he recognized the British uniforms above him. Spencer grabbed the man's arms, and Moffitt began trying to explain the situation, but it wasn't until Dietrich moved quickly into his line-of-sight and spoke to him that he finally settled, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and allowed Spencer to continue.

Revealing the shoulder at last, Spencer nodded and reached for his pack. "How old is this wound, sir?"

"About eighteen hours."

"Well, it's not too bad, for not having been treated sooner. We'll clean it up a bit and put a proper dressing on it; he'll make it to—ah, wherever you're going," he finished awkwardly, searching the depths of his bag.

"Very good, private; you may continue." Dietrich returned to lean against the cab beside his driver, and Spencer finally came up with a fresh dressing and glanced around. Moffitt, knowing from long experience what was probably needed, found a half-empty canteen on the floor and handed it to the medic. Between them, they got the wound cleaned and dressed; and then Spencer peered cautiously at the sergeant.

"I've got one more bottle of plasma," he said softly.

"Would it help?"

"Yes, it would. And we shouldn't need it …"

Moffitt heard the rest of the sentence in his mind: _unless another of us is wounded_. Still, that was only a possibility. The man before them was a reality. "Go ahead, then. We're under truce."

Spencer dug the last bottle of plasma out of his kit, while Moffitt set about explaining to their patient what they would be doing. The German seemed to accept his description well enough, until he looked over at Spencer, who was attaching the catheter to the rubber tube.

"What the—!" the medic exclaimed, dropping what he was doing as his patient went white as a sheet, eyes rolling back in his head.

Dietrich was there in an instant, leaning over their shoulders. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Spencer breathed, trying to find the man's pulse. "He's alive," he added after a moment, "but I've no idea what caused him to black out."

"He's afraid of needles," Moffitt said abruptly in realization. When the others only looked more confused, he went on, "He looked at the needle you were attaching to the plasma, and he fainted."

Dietrich straightened behind them, looking quite dumfounded, and Spencer bit back a nervous chuckle. "Can't say I've ever had _that_ happen before," the medic said. "Let's get the IV started before he comes round."

When that task was behind them, Spencer stood and turned toward Dietrich, stealing a look at the three Americans as he did. Tully was sitting in the back of his jeep, talking to someone on the ground whom Spencer knew to be Hitch. Troy was perched on the radio beside his own gun, and gave Moffitt a wave as the two Englishmen came into view. They wouldn't have been visible to the others while kneeling, Spencer realized. Reassured that all was well with his friends, he started making his way to the front of the vehicle.

"Let's have a look at that arm, Captain," he began; but Dietrich, who had been studying the horizon to the west for the last little while, waved him off.

"It's nothing to be concerned about."

"Sir –"

"As you were, private," the German replied with the voice of authority, and Spencer took an involuntary step backward, bumping into Moffitt. "If you wish to leave supplies with us when you go, that is your affair," the captain went on, his voice softening somewhat, "but to delay here longer invites the arrival of parties who may not wish to participate in our cease-fire, which will surely endanger my men even more. No, we must continue on our way."[PC12]

After looking to Moffitt for confirmation, Spencer gathered some bandages and a small number of sulfa tablets and handed them over to Dietrich. "Be sure he gets some sulfa when he comes round, sir. And you need some, too. If he bleeds through the bandage, don't take it off; just put another on over it." He realized that he was rambling, that the officer probably already knew this, but he felt the need to say the words anyway. He was stunned to silence, however, when Dietrich extended his right hand.

"Thank you for your assistance, Private –"

"Spencer, sir," the medic supplied, accepting the handshake with astonishment.

"Private Spencer."

Dietrich withdrew his hand, and Spencer, unsure how else to respond—_any time, sir? No problem?_—came to attention and saluted. He was aware of Moffitt echoing him from behind; Dietrich returned the gesture and released it, and Spencer ducked his head and started for the rear of the halftrack.

"Sergeant," Dietrich said, as Moffitt also turned to go, "I noticed one of your own men is wounded. I suspect you are headed for a fairly large camp, situated next to an oasis some fifty miles west of here?"

Moffitt, recognizing the description of their current base, chose not to respond.

"It is no longer there," the German continued as if he had received confirmation, looking out across the desert, "but I believe you'll find it approximately thirty-five miles northwest of its previous location. I'm afraid I can't be more precise."

Moffitt nodded, baffled. "Thank you, sir. I suspect we'll be able to obtain the exact location from whoever's creating that dust cloud." He indicated the growing dark spot on the western horizon, which was now beginning to take on the shape of an armored column.

"Indeed," Dietrich replied wryly, and turned to give instructions to his driver.

With that, Moffitt clambered out of the halftrack to join Spencer in returning to the jeeps. By the time they had Hitch settled in his seat again, the Germans had started up the halftrack and headed off to the east, Troy and Dietrich trading casual salutes as the cumbersome vehicle swung its way out of the mouth of the wadi.

"So you helped 'em out?" Tully asked, pulling a fresh matchstick out of his shirt pocket.

"One of them," Spencer replied as he stowed his pack behind the seat and climbed into the back of the jeep. Tully didn't have to ask about the other German.

"You can't see it from here, Troy, but it looks as though some friends are headed our way," Moffitt announced, gesturing vaguely to the west.

"About time something goes right," Hitch muttered, and Troy, in the driver's seat, took the private's Foreign Legion hat from his head and swatted his shoulder with it.

"It's been going our way all along, Hitch," the American sergeant replied with a grin. At the various looks of confusion he received, he added, "Well, we're still here, aren't we?"

Hitch rolled his eyes in exasperation, and Tully's response was to start up his jeep with a roar. Troy laughed, handed Hitch his hat, and waved in the general direction of the approaching column. "Let's shake it, fellas. Time to go home."


End file.
